wounds so deep they never show; they never go away. || EVERYONE

[Offspring]

something has been taken from deep inside of me;
the secret I've kept locked away no one can ever see.

    It is not long until they filter in – some carrying expressions of disdain, while others are curious; perhaps even roused by his call to action. His darkening gaze steadies upon each face, tracing the familiar lines of those he knows, and etching those he does not into the deepest crevices of his memory. The flickering ember within him is stoked by their presence, and a soothing warmth has already begun to seep into his veins, traversing the length of his broad, heavily muscled body. The sun pales in comparison to the hearth of his chest, where his heart hammers steadily.

  The first to speak is a warm, rich voice - Jord - and his own burning eyes meet with hers. A small semblance of a smile touches the darkest edges of his whiskered mouth, as her vows spill forth from her own as if she had been longing to voice them for an eternity or more. There is a brief mention of fire, and his browline furrows for a moment, a glimmer of concern flickering in his iron gaze.

  He had not wielded his fire, not yet – it was too powerful, too tempting, and thus he kept it under lock and key - as much as he as able. Even now, it burns brighter, and he wonders how obvious it is that something is lurking within the shadow of his restless features – perhaps it had been the heat of his skin, or the way the fire seamlessly found its way out, burning the swaying stalks of greenery as he passed – leaving little but their charred remains behind.

  It would be foolish to think that his fire had gone unnoticed – it certainly had not gone unnoticed by him.

  A rumbling chuckle emerges from his vocal cords, with are rough and ragged from disuse, and the faint shadow of a smile reaches the depths of his eyes. A nod of acknowledgment is given to her (and there is the warmth of camaraderie in the way that he watches her). He does not speak as she moves to his side, for others speak before him.  

  Nymphetamine; another warm and familiar face, soon standing beside him as well. The right-hand man to Killdare, one of his closest companions and ally in war. The fire dims inside of him then, as nostalgia traces the rim of his memory. He longed to see his wayward friend again, but it is a comfort to have his closest confidant at his own side, speaking confidence in his leadership. A nod of acknowledgement is given to him, too – he would speak with him later.

  Then, the reunion is broken apart, as his dark scarlet gaze searches the indigo plane of Warrick’s features, where hardened eyes and a stiffened voice lie. Though his words are a pledge to the volcanic island alone (and thus, much like Ellyse, his allegiance shadows the throne), there is an edge to his voice, though he himself cannot quite discern its source. Nonetheless, he  willfully carries his gaze, quietly making a note to himself to seek him out beneath the setting sun further know him, and not only his name.

  Another dark figure stirs a gleam of light in his eyes. Thanata. She had been a quiet, but unshakable force within the icy tundran walls. Her tone is as rich and thick as honey, and it is a reminding of the bleary winter days spent beneath the pale sunlight, with icy interlaced in each of their dark, tangled tresses. He would always long for the wintry domain that had been stolen away from him (the fire flickers in its ferocity within him; a trace of irritation lingering on his mind at the thought) but he was content to know that the relationships he had forged within its icy grasp would thrive.

  And then Ellyse moves forth seamlessly, her fiery gaze set upon his own, and there is a lacing of venom in her carefully spoken words. He knew her well enough – she had been close to Magnus, and he had seen her blatant disregard for diplomacy a time or two before – she was a force to be reckoned with, but one he would have to watch carefully. She, much like Warrick, pledges her allegiance to the island alone, but something in her terse voice that betrays her intent. It was not the island she cared about at all – but Magnus himself; she would likely not linger for long.

  His steely gaze does not settle on her for long, as a sleek, muscled figure moves forth swiftly and catches his eye - with only the briefest of acknowledgements given to him, Dahmer’s attention is set instead upon Jord, and wordlessly, he has spat upon the ground she stands upon. A shadow of a frown tugs at the corner of his dark mouth, but he does not speak. Though he had never spoken to him, he knew well Dahmer’s place in Tephra, as did all who dwelled within - emotions were always inevitably high and unpredictable with the incoming tide of a new reign; he would not fault him for it. It was a matter better left between them.

  For now.

  Kimber is the first to speak, with a rugged roughness (still deeply feminine, nonetheless) and a sardonic tone, her bright and vivid eyes watching after Dahmer’s retreating form. He cannot suppress the slightest of smiles pulling at the corner of his lips; he did not know her well but he knew of her. She had fought alongside him in what had inevitably led to the Reckoning itself, and she had fought valiantly against the infinitely arrogant Kratos. A solemn nod is given to her; he would seek her, too, and soon. She would be an invaluable asset.

  His attentive contemplation is then drawn to a mottled roan, with strong, definitive features, and a broad, carefree smile - he has never been so carefree as he, he muses to himself, studying the line of his lax jaw as he drivels on. Nonetheless, he is charismatic, with humor laced in his voice. He cannot discern why, but he is altogether familiar in a way - perhaps a descendent of the ever-jovial Weir. Perhaps, he, too, would be a valuable asset - diplomacy was of utmost importance.

  The shadow of his half-hearted smile soon wanes, though, as the fire burns within, leaving the delicate tissue lining his rib cage searing with pain. The muscle of his jaw tightens as he attempts to regain his composure, a low fire burning in the hearth of his brimstone eyes. Tensely, his cheek turns as he feels the gentle touch of his beloved Isle’s lips pressed against his hip, following her carefully with his gaze as she decides not to stand beside him, but rather - before him.

  Much can be said for her decision; she would follow him anywhere - but never had she, nor would she lead beside him. There is both comfort and frustration in that revelation, and a coiling emotion stirs within the pit of his belly - an unfamiliar emotion; one he cannot properly define. Still, there is a flicker of warmth that is not caused by the burning fire within - his heart pines for her; it always would - but she felt so far away to him, somehow. So distant. He is uneasy without her at his side, and yet, there is something growing, changing inside of him, and he cannot bear to bring her closer to the white hot flames.

  ”Your loyalty and dedication is more meaningful than words can express.” He says finally, glancing to each of them, analyzing the variations in their expressions. ”Some of you know my capabilities as a leader, and some of you I will need to prove myself to. I will.” There is a decisiveness and a finality to his tone. His is King, once more.

  ”When Tephra was founded, there was a notion of cooperation and collaboration. The idea of a refuge, or a sanctuary - a noble idea,” his voice is a trailing murmur near the end, his memory roving over the solemn, whiskey rich words Magnus had once spoken to him. ”but once more, the world is changing, and we must change with it. A loose political system has done nothing to benefit us. We have no alliances, and similarly, no enemies. But as Nerine moves forth towards the very definition of a regime, as Taiga closes itself off, as Pangea falls - we must find where we belong; we must find strength and solidarity in one another.”

  A pause, then, his searing eyes looking towards the volcano, and the thick plumes of smoke rising from the volcanic vent at the top. ”There will be a place for each of those who deserve it. There will be a purpose for each of those who desire it. I will need confidants - those I can trust, those I can depend upon. I will need diplomats, to extend of olive branch to some, and to negotiate terms with others.”

  He looks to them, now, stoicism etched into the rough surface of his masculine features.

  ”Jord, Thanata - you will serve beneath Nymphetamine; he is a strong diplomat. Prove to me your abilities and there may be higher placement for you. Fox, is it?” His gaze steadied upon him; he did not say his name but he was a watchful one - much could be learned simply by listening. ”you have wit and humor - both of which are useful in diplomacy. Should you desire it, I would like for you to traverse the land with them. There is much to learn about the lands that still remain, and your good humor and .. ability to express yourself,” his browline raises then, ”might be beneficial to kingdom ties.”

  ”Kimber, I will need you skill and your experience, if you are willing to serve beneath Ellyse. I trust that you are capable - but I would like to see it.”

  And finally, he glances to Warrick, tracing the ridge of his stern brow, and the taut muscle of his cheek, where his teeth are tightly clenched. ”You. Warrick?” he asks, but he already knows. ”You are a quiet but steady accompaniment our kingdom. I need a stable presence, to represent what we are and where we have been. Consider it, if you will.”

  ”I will do all that I can to serve you, and Tephra.”

wounds so deep they never show; they never go away.
like moving pictures in my head, for years and years they've played.

Offspring

Um, okay. So.
Word vomit.
I wanted to make sure I acknowledged everyone; thank you so much for replying.
You can reply to this IC, or OOC. There will be a caste system, but a slightly nontraditional one.
I will explain more later, but Offy needs to know where you all want to be and what you want. :3